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I 


SYLVIA 


■ 


SYLVIA 


NEW  YORK 
PRIVATELY  PRINTED 
MCM  XI  I 


COPYRIGHT,  1912 
BY  ADELINE  ADAMS 


! 


DEDICATION 


TO  ELEANOR 


OFT  has  the  Old  World  traveler  seen, 
In  ashes  of  Pompeii  pressed, 
Immortal,  beautiful,  serene, 
A  maiden's  shoulder  and  young  breast. 

Yet  whoso  sees  aye  walks  apart, 

At  footfall  of  the  passer-by; 
With  something  welling  in  his  heart, 

Because  she  too,  she  too,  should  die; 

And  oft  thereafter,  that  same  day, 
As  people  fresh  from  dreams  will  do, 

In  dream-continuance,  he  will  say, 
"The  others  —  nay,  but  not  she  too!" 

Oh,  if  those  hostile  tongues  of  fire 
A  tale  so  tender-true  might  bring, 

May  not  perchance  a  loving  lyre 
Likewise  its  dear  remembrance  sing? 

And  if  the  constant  lava  hold 
The  body's  fairness  —  ah,  no  less 

These  singing  leaves  would  fain  unfold 
To  tell  the  spirit's  loveliness ! 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Dedication   ix 

A  MOTHER'S  HEART 

Ad  te,  Domine   3 

Love's  Memorial   4 

Loveliness   5 

O  Rose-Tree   7 

Remembering  Thee   8 

Ballad   10 

Not  Here,  but  Risen   13 

A  Little  Brother's  Thought   14 

The  Soul's  Opportunity   15 

SYLVAN  LEAVES 

The  Sylvan  Sparkle   19 

The  Sylvan  Magazine   20 

Riding  Song   23 

A  Sylvan  Saying   24 

The  Wanderer   28 

O  Busy  Pine   29 

Some  One  is  Coming   30 

The  Dryad   32 


xi 


CONTENTS 


SEVEN  SONNETS 


In  His  Own  Image   37 

Revelation   38 

Like  as  a  Father   39 

Companionship  at  Twilight   40 

The  Changed  Garden   41 

Ascutney   42 

To-day   43 

LYRICS  FROM  SYLVIA'S  MASQUE 
TO-MORROW  LAND 

Closed  Eyes   47 

Call  o'  the  Rain   49 

Call  o'  the  Wee  People   51 

The  Silver  Knight   54 

Slumber  Song   55 

Travel  Song   56 

Chipmunk  Ahoy   57 

Lady  Robin   58 

Song  Sparrow   60 

Hermit  Thrush   .  .61 

Poplar  Tree   62 

THE  IVORY  PORTRAIT  AND 
OTHER  VERSES 

The  Ivory  Portrait   65 

Betsinda   79 

To  Sylvia's  Eyes      .  .81 

The  Fairer  Flower   82 


xii 


CONTENTS 


Vision  of  Childhood    83 

They  that  Mourn   84 

Of  Little  Things   85 

The  Blue  Mantle   87 

ENVOY 

Sylvan  Voices   93 


xiii 


I 


A  MOTHER'S  HEART 


AD  TE,  DOMINE 


H  E  stood  before  the  olden  maze 
Each  soul  must  tread  alone; 
She  knew  these  were  the  unseen  ways 
That  lead  to  things  unknown: 

She  knew  hers  was  a  road  apart, 

No  one  of  us  had  trod; 
1  hen  unafraid,  and  strong  of  heart, 

A  little  girl  sought  God. 


s 


3 


LOVE'S  MEMORIAL 


WHETHER  my  Love  be  near, 
Or  whether,  the  vision  gone, 
My  faltering  feet  shall  fear 
The  road  that  stretches  on ; 

Whether  with  throngs  I  pace 

The  street,  the  busy  mart, 
Or  hide  me  for  a  space 

In  my  most  secret  heart; 

Matins,  in  one  shrin'd  room; 

At  pensive  evensong; 
In  gladness  as  in  gloom; 

Or  brief  my  task,  or  long; 

Lord,  order  now  my  days, 

That  all  my  living  shall, 
In  living,  loving  ways, 

Build  Love's  Memorial! 


LOVELINESS 


DUTY  was  ne'er  so  sweetly  dight 
For  me,  blue  sky  was  ne'er  so  near, 
And  Beauty  ne'er  has  bloomed  so  bright 
As  now,  in  this  my  sorrowing  year. 

Fair  daffodils,  and  singing  brooks, 
And  children,  rosy  from  their  play 

Have  never  given  me  starrier  looks 
Than  now,  on  this  my  saddest  day. 

The  Godward  hymn  of  hermit  thrush 
Now  thrills,  beyond  my  past  belief ; 

Lovely  the  lilac,  leaf  and  flush, 
In  this  the  Springtime  of  my  grief. 

Gray  things  are  golden  now  and  grand; 

No  blight  is  here  that  may  not  bless; 
And  tasks  low-lying  'neath  my  hand 

Transfigured  are  to  holiness. 

5 


LOVELINESS 


Now  that  her  wing  must  mourning  go, — 

O  miracle, —  my  struggling  soul 
Is  grown  more  swift  and  strong  to  know 
Which  thing  is  stain,  which  aureole. 

Since  thou  didst  see  the  thorns  entwirled, 
O  Mary,  o'er  that  shining  Head, 

Hath  not  each  rose-heart  in  the  world 
For  thee,  a  deeper  fragrance  shed? 


6 


O  ROSE-TREE 


O ROSE-TREE,  like  a  person,  thou 
Whose  pulsing  presence  at  my  gate 
Oft  startles  me  to  wonder  now 
If  thou  be  one  for  whom  I  wait, 

The  Westwind  flings  thy  shade  a-dance 
Oft,  oft  across  my  echoing  floor, 

And  all  my  heart  cries  out,  "  Perchance  — " 
And  leaps  to  open  wide  the  door! 

What  if,  we  being  unaware 
That  miracles  once  more  might  be, 

An  angel-shape  were  standing  there, 
And  no  one,  no  one  turned  to  see  — 

What  if  a  little  golden  head 

Looked  lonely  'gainst  the  far  blue  sky, 
And  shining  steps,  uncomforted 

And  all  unwatched,  went  wandering  by! 

O  Rose-tree,  that  is  why  I  start. 

Whene'er  thy  shadows  flit  and  pass 
To  dance  a  moment  on  my  heart, 

Then  vanish  through  the  window  glass. 


7 


REMEMBERING  THEE 


REMEMBERING  thee,  my  life's  clear  song, 
Psalm  of  my  soul,  my  heart's  full  roundelay, 
Remembering  thee,  alway ! 

Ever  with  love  I  list,  when  cometh  Spring, 

All  birds  that  sing; 

But  when  yon  sparrowy  one,  with  chant  divine, 
Brings  her  small  spray,  her  secret  nest  to  twine, 

Beside  my  door,  and  lingers  long 

As  fearing  hurt  or  wrong, 
I  pine,  I  pine, 

Remembering  thee ! 

Remembering  thee,  my  life's  fair  flower, 
Thou  lily  of  my  soul,  rose  of  my  heart, 
Remembering  thee,,  apart ! 

No  less  I  love  all  blossoms  of  the  earth 

Where  thou  hadst  birth ; 

But  when  I  see  the  orange  wreath  adorn 

Pure  foreheads  even  as  thine,  mine  own  firstborn, 

In  that  brave  consecrated  hour 

Of  ring  and  marriage  bower, 
I  mourn,  I  mourn, 

Remembering  thee! 

8 


REMEMBERING  THEE 


Remembering  thee,  my  roundelay,  my  psalm, 
My  rose  that  was,  my  lily  wholly  star  — 
Nay,  but  how  sadder  far 

Were  thy  forgetting!  Days,  how  darker  yet, 

Could  I  forget! 
What  sobbing  moonlights,  what  heartbreaking  dawns 
Would  then  steal  far,  over  these  lovely  lawns 

That  now  await,  in  dayspring's  balm, 

At  noon,  at  curfew  calm, 
A  footfall  like  the  fawn's, 

Remembering  thee! 


9 


BALLAD 


WIND  went  wailing  through  the  wood, 


As  one  who  in  that  same  hour  should 
Face  hostile  ghosts  of  years: 

And  if  a  wind  may  clasp  the  trees, 

Nor  bring  them  gift  of  rain, 
In  change  for  their  sweet  listening  ease, 

Where  shall  I  ease  my  pain? 

Therefore  it  was  my  flowers  I  sought, 

For  look  or  word  from  them; 
The  evening's  tears  a  broidery  wrought 

On  my  sad  garment's  hem; 

But  like  the  wind,  I  could  not  weep  —  • 

No  tears  came  to  my  eyes, 
Save  in  some  strange  and  snatched  sleep 

My  soul  they  might  surprise. 

10 


Went  wailing  without  tears, 


BALLAD 


O  all  ye  kindred  growing  things, 

If  roses,  or  if  rue, 
Show  me  the  blessed  sign  that  brings 

To  earth,  the  holy  dew! 

Or  pale  in  pall  of  purity, 
Or  glowing  from  your  moss, 

Ye  make  no  sign  at  all  to  me 
Of  sorrow,  or  the  cross? 

And  will  ye  not  by  any  spell 
That's  in  your  bud  or  leaf, 

A  sorrowing  soul  a  moment  tell 
What  ye  may  know  of  grief? 

All  silent,  all  so  calm  to  see, 

And  radiant,  dry-eyed! 
Nay,  now,  one  turning  spake  to  me, 

And  of  the  Crucified. 

Of  the  four  flowerets  she  bore, 
One  westward  waned,  one  east; 

And  one,  sky-pointing,  looked  her  lore 
Of  the  Ascension  feast. 

And  even  as  she  looked,  I  heard  — 
(Nay,  who  spake,  if  not  she?) 

As  to  the  wind,  one  only  word, 
Saying,  Gethsemane. 

1 1 


BALLAD 

Far  in  the  deep  and  shadowy  wood, 
Hark,  hark,  the  tender  rain: 

O  Wind,  for  thee  and  me  it  could 
Perchance  bring  ease  again ! 


12 


NOT  HERE,  BUT  RISEN 


NOT  here,  but  risen, 99  so  reply 
The  Shining  Ones,  still  standing  by 
The  holy  place  where  God  was  laid, 
And  holy  women,  unafraid, 
Seek  Him  whom  men  did  crucify. 

So  are  the  nestlings  I  could  spy 
Once  in  this  nest,  now  bare,  awry, 
And  very  silent  in  the  shade! — 
Not  here,  but  risen. 

Home  of  my  heart,  where  often  I 
Shall  list  her  footsteps,  sometimes  nigh, 

Yet  sometimes  —  oh,  how  far  they  fade! 

Will  not  the  music  once  they  made 
Send  back  in  echo,  one  soft  sigh, 
"Not  here,  but  risen?" 


13 


A  LITTLE  BROTHER'S  THOUGHT 


OH,  she  who  was  so  good  and  glad 
Would  never  take  from  us  the  cheer, 
The  lovely  pleasantness  we  had 
While  she  was  here. 

And  it  would  hurt  her  heart  to  know 
That  no  one  sings  here  any  more; 

We  must  not  all  too  stilly  go 
By  her  dear  door. 

Since  it  would  grieve  her  overmuch 

To  think  of  us  as  otherwise 
Than  valiant,  let  us  then  be  such, 

And  lift  our  eyes. 

But  oh,  we  know  that  she  will  guess 
How  sorrowful  and  strange  we  are, 

Around  the  fire,  with  one  chair  less, 
And  one  child  far! 


14 


THE  SOUL'S  OPPORTUNITY 


FATHER,  when  from  the  deeps  thy  children  call, 
In  grief  resigning  all, 

We  touch  once  more  thy  hand,  O  Infinite, 
And  haply  take  from  it, 
To  wear,  a  little  space,  Infinity, 
Which  as  a  wing  shall  be: 

For  Grief  shall  rise  on  exaltation's  wing, 
When  in  her  throbbing  Spring, 
No  less  than  Joy.    O'er  daily  things  of  earth, 
Grief  soars  aloft  at  birth; 

The  stricken  heart,  quickened  with  heavenly  power, 
Rebounds  from  earth's  dark  hour. 

But  when  the  changing  year  is  fully  sped, 
With  Spring  and  Summer  fled, 
With  gold  and  purple  of  October  heaths 
Hidden  in  silver  wreaths; 

When  the  white  snow-drift  shall  dissolve  its  snows 
Into  the  Whitsun  rose; 

15 


THE  SOUL'S  OPPORTUNITY 


When  once  again  from  the  flush  bough  is  heard 

The  oriole's  promised  word; 

When  once  again  gay  garlands  are  begun, 

Blithe  tasks  for  all  save  one; 

When  festal  footsteps  to  the  dance  are  pressed 

Once  more,  save  those  loved  best; 

Ah,  then  Griefs  pinion,  from  that  ether  far, 
Droops,  as  a  falling  star 

To  earth.  The  soul  shall  doff  her  wings,  those  days, 
Yet  not  her  glory  rays, 

To  walk,  with  children  of  the  earth,  their  road, 
To  dwell  in  their  abode; 

Days  dark  and  difficult  to  share  with  them, 

Trailing  her  starry  hem 

In  lowlier  confines,  realms  less  seeming-fair 

Than  those  of  upper  air. 

And  if  to  earth  returning  Summer's  feet 

May  bring  a  message  sweet, 

No  less,  O  Soul,  may  thy  returning  pace 

Hallow  this  dwelling-place 

With  something  of  the  love  and  light  that  glow 

Where  lately  thou  didst  go; 

O  Soul,  in  thy  returning,  thou  shalt  see 

Glad  opportunity! 


16 


SYLVAN  LEAVES 


THE  SYLVAN  SPARKLE 


"  T  ET  not  the  immemorial  May-Day  mirth 
I  j  Of  jocund  Pan  desert  the  needy  earth  — " 
Is  there  a  rumour  of  it? 

Behold  now  Sylvia's  eyebrow,  firm  and  fine, 
Lift  up  at  will  its  merry  mountain  line, 
For  that's  the  humour  of  it  — 

And  sweetly  risen,  lo,  that  line  shall  then 
Return  to  lovely  gravity  again, 
As 't  were  in  choosing  of  it, 

The  while  a  sylvan  sparkle,  underneath, 
Flashes  unbidden  from  the  eyelid's  sheath, 
In  plain  refusing  of  it! 


19 


THE  SYLVAN  MAGAZINE 


SYLVIA  Brown-Eyes,  Sylvia  Blue-Eyes, 
Editresses  wise  (not  too  wise) 
Will  offer  shortly,  in  the  sweet  o'  the  year, 
The  promised  literary  treat  o'  the  year, 
Something  quite  new  and  unforeseen, 
The  Sylvan  Magazine! 


The  bright  romance,  the  timely  article 
Will  there  be  found,  without  a  particle 
Of  overweening  would-be-greatness, 
Or  yet  of  prune-and-prism  sedateness; 
Halfway  'twixt  saucy  and  serene 
Is  the  Sylvan  Magazine! 

The  pine  boughs,  in  their  style  seigniorial, 
Will  chant  for  us  an  editorial; 
Our  printer's  devil  is  a  rabbit 
Far-noted  for  his  clerkly  habit ; 
The  hermit  thrush  will  be  our  dean, 
In  the  Sylvan  Magazine. 

20 


V 


THE  SYLVAN  MAGAZINE 

Out  of  the  pens  of  babes  and  sucklings 
Is  food  for  thought  and  pensive  chucklings; 
Our  essays  on  "Advice  to  Mothers" 
Are  widely  known;  then  there  are  others, 
As,  "When  Should  Parents  Intervene?" 
In  the  Sylvan  Magazine. 

We  print  a  serial,  thrilling,  forceful, 
On  "Janet  Olyphant,"  resourceful 
Heroine  of  rides  on  trolleys; 
A  ballad  called,  "Louise's  Follies;" 
"The  Porter  Diamond"  sheds  a  sheen 
On  the  Sylvan  Magazine. 

Also,  we  serve  for  your  refection, 
In  continuity  collection, 
R.  P.'s  "Adventures  of  a  Cowboy:" 
We  have  a  "  Poem  on  a  Plowboy," 
And  there'll  be  limericks  on  the  green, 
In  the  Sylvan  Magazine. 

Our  hand-wrought  types,  our  ample  marges 
Are  given  you  at  lowest  charges 
Consistent  with  our  great  initial 
Expense  —  something  quite  sacrificial! 
It  offers  lines  to  read  between, 
The  Sylvan  Magazine! 


21 


THE  SYLVAN  MAGAZINE 

We  sell  no  copies;  we've  consented 
One  fair  copy  may  be  rented, 
Weekly,  for  a  dime  and  nickel; 
We  wish  no  clients  false  or  fickle, 
Or  who  have  hands  at  all  unclean, 
For  the  Sylvan  Magazine. 

The  proceeds  go  to  help  a  movement 
Now  on  foot,  our  own  improvement, 
Often  mentioned  to  the  heedful 
As  something  lacking,  yet  most  needful : 
A  fact  we  hope  you  will  not  glean 
From  the  Sylvan  Magazine. 


22 


RIDING  SONG 


I 

(THE  TWO  SYLVIAS) 

As  we  ride  and  we  ride  on  our  high,  high  horses 
To  Windsor  town,  where  the  Merry  Wives  dwell, 

The  maiden-fern  spangles  the  banks  where  our  course  is, 
And  squirrel-scamps  scamper,  to  wish  us  well; 

The  jewel-bird,  out  of  the  elm  he's  adorning, 
Flings  down  for  our  favor  his  jewels  of  song, 

As  we  ride  far  and  fast  in  the  dews  of  the  morning, 
And  Blow-Me-Down  runs  to  the  river  along. 

II 

(the  two  mothers) 

As  they  ride  and  they  ride  on  their  proud,  proud  ponies 
By  Beaver's  ways,  or  by  Blow-Me-Down, 

Our  hearts  beat  rejoicing  since  neither  alone  is, 
And  blue  eyes  ride  close  to  the  eyes  of  brown : 

Paired  and  abreast,  twin  angels  are  winging 

By  cardinal's  flag  or  by  partridge  hen, 
And  safe  in  the  sunset,  with  chatter  and  singing, 

Twin  angels  on  horseback  ride  homeward  again ! 


^3 


A  SYLVAN  SAYING 


ENTLES,  if  it  be  fit  for  you 
To  sport  in  simple  way, 


Read  me  this  riddle,  Eyes-of-Blue, 
Brown-Eyes,  and  Eyes-of-Gray: 

"What  is  the  bravest  sight  on  earth 

For  girl  or  boy  or  man, 
In  magic,  wit,  or  work,  or  worth, 

Come  answer,  you  who  can!" 


Cried  Brown-Eyes  quick,  "Of  course,  of  course, 

I  know  the  very  thing  — 
It  is  my  marvel  Goldie-horse, 

Just  watch  him  on  the  wing! 

"  His  golden  mail-coat  splashes 

All  the  highroad  with  its  glow, 
And  where  his  fine  foot  flashes, 

There  the  lightnings  come  and  go; 
24 


II 


A  SYLVAN  SAYING 

"For  a  sky-thing  you'd  mistake  him, 
Since  he  stole  the  stars  for  eyes; 

It  was  Heaven  and  earth  to  make  him, 
With  his  nostril  wide  and  wise; 

"His  nostril  is  a  red,  red  rose, 

And  very  proud  his  crest; 
Of  all  brave  shows  this  brave  world  knows, 

I  count  a  horse  the  best!" 


Ill 

"Not  so,"  sweet  Eyes-of-Gray  replied, 

"  The  bravest  sight,  for  me, 
Who  dwell  these  wonder-hills  beside, 

Is  oh,  the  far-off  sea! 

"And  how  could  any  horse  at  all, 

With  rider  or  without, 
Compare  with  waves  that  rise  and  fall, 

And  pace  with  mighty  shout? 

"Behold,  the  breakers  toss  their  manes 

At  call  of  Lady  Moon, 
Who,  though  she  waxes,  though  she  wanes, 

Still  guides  them,  night  and  noon: 

25 


I 

A  SYLVAN  SAYING 

"And  when  her  moonbeams  all  come  forth 

To  lead  the  waves  a  dance, 
A  lordlier  pageant,  south  or  north, 

I  know  will  never  chance!" 


IV 

"  If  you,  Brown-Eyes,  a  realm  would  give 
Your  horse  to  have  and  hold, 

If  you,  Gray-Eyes,  would  love  and  live 
Beside  the  ocean  old, 

"Then  Eyes-of-Blue,  lift  up  your  voice! 

Of  all  brave  shows  there  are  — 
Would  steed  or  statue  be  your  choice, 

Or  brook  or  hill  or  star? 


V 

"What,  Eyes-of-Blue,  so  pensive  still? 

Beneath  your  sylvan  arch 
A  light-foot  fancy  flits  at  will, 

Whether  in  dance  or  march;" 

"Far  lovelier, "  says  that  sylvan  look, 
"Than  aught  that's  for  the  riding  — 

Deeper  than  sea,  fairer  than  brook  — 
The  thought  my  heart  is  hiding ! 
26 


A  SYLVAN  SAYING 


"For  oh,  I  see,  and  very  plain, 
The  sight  I  hold  most  dear  — 

My  mother  walking  up  the  lane, 
Coming  to  meet  me  here." 


27 


THE  WANDERER 


I ASKED  the  Dandelion's  ghost, 
Or  should  I  go,  or  should  I  stay,  O? 
Full  well  I  knew  what  I  wished  most; 
I  asked  the  Dandelion's  ghost, 
And  all  her  little  winged  host 

Blew  off,  flew  off,  and  far  away,  O! 
1  asked  the  Dandelion's  ghost, 
Or  should  I  go,  or  should  I  stay,  O? 

The  Dandelion's  ghost  was  right, 
My  Mother  wanted  me  at  home,  so! 

Almost  I  knew,  believed  it  quite, 

The  Dandelion's  ghost  was  right; 

But  farther  off  were  flowers  more  bright, 
And  Will-o'-the-Wisp  guides  those  that  roam  so ! 

The  Dandelion's  ghost  was  right, 
My  Mother  wanted  me  at  home,  so! 


28 


O  BUSY  PINE 


OBUSY  Pine,  like  Mother  of  mine, 
And  do  you  never  rest 
Your  fingers  fine,  that  weave  and  twine 
Above  the  sparrow's  nest? 

I  see  your  face,  from  this  my  place; 

Here  at  your  feet  I  lie, 
And  dreaming,  trace  your  dim  rich  lace 

Far-off,  against  the  sky. 

From  morn  till  eve,  your  branches  weave 

Those  wondrous  waving  webs, 
That  fall  and  heave,  that  lure  and  leave, 

As  sea-tide  flows  and  ebbs. 

You  swing  to  me,  you  bring  to  me 
Old  tales,  thoughts  new-unfurled, 

That  cling  to  me,  that  sing  to  me, 
As  from  another  world: 

Almost  I  know  I  am  to  go 

A  journey,  land  and  main; 
O  Pine,  bend  low,  and  tell  me  so, 

Whisper  it,  very  plain! 


20 


SOME  ONE  IS  COMING  WHO  NEVER 
WILL  COME 

(sylvia's  words) 
\  PINE-TREE,  singing  and  whispering  low, 


"  Some  one  is  coming  who  never  will  come, " 


And  is  it  a  music  from  long  ago, 
O  Pine-tree,  singing  and  whispering  low, 
Or  is  it  a  message  that  Mother  must  know, 

The  same,  perhaps,  that  the  brown  bees  hum, 
O  Pine-tree,  singing  and  whispering  low, 

"Some  one  is  coming  who  never  will  come?" 

Oh,  is  it  a  tale  of  the  seas  and  the  ships, 

"  Some  one  is  coming  who  never  will  come, " 
Wing'd  words,  all  pearly  from  pixies'  lips, 
Oh,  is  it  a  tale  of  the  seas  and  the  ships, 
Tall  masts,  bright  sails,  and  starry  trips, 
Or  a  drooping  flag  and  a  muffled  drum, 
Oh,  is  it  a  tale  of  the  seas  and  the  ships, 
"Some  one  is  coming  who  never  will  come?" 
30 


SOMEONE  IS  COMING  WHO  NEVER  WILL  COME 


It  is  told  in  the  books  on  the  high,  high  shelves, 

"Some  one  is  coming  who  never  will  come;" 
O  Pine-tree,  your  story  that  came  from  the  elves, 
It  is  told  in  the  books  on  the  high,  high  shelves, 
It  is  something  we  long  ago  dreamed,  ourselves! 

True  are  the  words  that  said  by  the  dumb, 
It  is  told  in  the  books  on  the  high,  high  shelves, 
"Some  one  is  coming  who  never  will  come!" 


3i 


THE  DRYAD 


O SYLVIA,  loved  of  the  leaves, 
Thy  spirit  forever  is  free! 
No  longer  a  dryad  who  grieves, 
O  Sylvia,  loved  of  the  leaves, 
Thy  spirit  her  prison  now  cleaves: 

Alas,  still  imprison'd  are  we! 
O  Sylvia,  loved  of  the  leaves, 
Thy  spirit  forever  is  free ! 

Fair  Fia,  fare  home  in  the  gloaming, 
Thy  footfall  the  ring-fairies  know! 
Thy  heart  is  a  leal  heart  for  homing, 
Fair  Fia,  fare  home  in  the  gloaming, 
And  whisper  us  tales  of  thy  roaming, 

When  lamps  of  the  fireflies  glow: 
Fair  Fia,  fare  home  in  the  gloaming, 
Thy  footfall  the  ring-fairies  know! 

And  wilt  thou  not  stay  till  the  starlight 

Shall  silver  thy  grove  and  its  floor? 
Behold  now  that  lone  star  afar,  light, 
And  wilt  thou  not  stay  till  the  starlight 
32 


THE  DRYAD 


Call  elves,  light  as  only  elves  are  light, 
To  dance  out  their  gossamer  lore? 

And  wilt  thou  not  stay  till  the  starlight 
Shall  silver  thy  grove  and  its  floor? 

Sweet  Sylvia,  loved  past  our  telling, 

Thy  wing-time  knows  Here,  and  Beyond  : 
No  longer  a  dryad,  tree-dwelling, 
Sweet  Sylvia,  loved  past  our  telling, 
All  pathways  are  thine  for  compelling, 
While  we,  alas,  still  wear  our  bond : 
Sweet  Sylvia,  loved  past  our  telling, 
Thy  wing-time  knows  Here,  and  Beyond ! 


33 


SEVEN  SONNETS 


IN  HIS  OWN  IMAGE 


BROAD-BROW'D  thinker,  thou  hast  oft  un- 
roll'd 


The  laws  and  prophets  as  of  small  avail, 
And  Genesis  as  but  an  old-wives'  tale 
To  check  some  grandchild,  late  grown  overbold ! 
Yet  when,  in  brimming  epic,  all  is  told 

Of  human  hearts  bleeding  beneath  their  mail, 

Of  human  hands  pierc'd  by  the  pitiless  nail 
Of  sharpest  sorrow:  when  thou  shalt  behold 
How  godlike  is  this  Woman  who  doth  grieve, 

How  kingly,  too,  this  Man  beneath  the  rod, 
How  high  their  glance  who  with  stretch'd  hands  receive 

The  bitter  cup,  pouring  upon  the  sod 
The  sweeter  drink:  shalt  thou  not  then  believe 

That  these  were  made  in  likeness  of  their  God? 


37 


REVELATION 


WHEN  unto  that  last  jeweled  Book  I  turn, 
Groping,  in  my  dark  hour,  for  some  bright 
creed 

To  save  me,  self  from  self,  —  alas,  what  heed 
Have  I,  familiar  with  the  gems  that  burn 
In  these  my  many  tears,  what  heed  to  learn 
Of  jasper,  sapphire,  chrysoprase  indeed? 
Stones  are  they  all !   Not  stones,  but  bread,  my  need ! 
A  cup,  a  loaf,  a  staff  —  for  these  I  yearn. 
Yet  hark!    In  that  high  tale  the  heralds  bring 
Of  vial,  vision,  pomp  of  precious  stone, 

Paving  the  paths  of  Heaven,  my  spirit  hears 
Twin  messages  for  human  comforting: 

"  Her  child  was  caught  up  unto  God,  His  throne;" 
"God  from  their  eyes  shall  wipe  away  all  tears." 


38 


LIKE  AS  A  FATHER 


A STRONG  star  sweeps  illimitable  space; 
One  star  of  many,  it  shall  fall  and  die, 
And  there  is  no  bewildering  in  the  sky, 
No  frown  upon  the  firmament's  fair  face: 
One  wave  of  many,  this  wide  wave  shall  pace, 
Ever  irrevocable  drawing  nigh 
Heart-breaking  boom  and  doom,  yet  scarce  a  sigh 
Shall  stir  the  gray  sea  in  his  resting-place. 
Not  so  man's  griefs,  unnumbered  though  they  be, 
E'en  as  the  stars  and  waves,  and  lovely  leaves 
That  give  glad  holiday!     Fear  not,  for  He 

Who  counts  the  sparrows  twittering  from  your  eaves 
May  not  unmoved  His  myriad  mourners  see: 
Fear  not,  in  each  child's  grief  a  Father  grieves! 


39 


COMPANIONSHIP  AT  TWILIGHT 


O TWILIGHT,  in  thy  magic  robe  of  gray, 
The  gray  that  in  its  deeps  doth  all-enfold 
Heart-chosen  hues  of  sky  and  rose  and  gold ! 
Speed  now  the  ritual  of  closing  Day, 
Nor  welcome  yet  the  radiant  Night's  array, 
But  linger  with  me!    Let  mine  eyes  behold 
A  Shape  more  dear  than  morrows  will  have  told, 
Or  dreams  of  yesteryear  might  ever  say: 
For  with  thy  trailing  garment  I  see  pass 

The  glory  of  my  lost  love's  shining  hair; 
The  singing  silver  of  the  fountain's  glass 

Shows  me  once  more  the  eyes  I  knew  most  fair; 
And  in  the  orchard,  the  mysterious  grass 
Whispers  the  waiting  trees,  some  one  is  there. 


40 


THE  CHANGED  GARDEN 


LET  there  be  flowers  where  my  love  hath  passed ; 
^  Nay,  never  a  mournful  blossom,  nor  the  shade 
Of  any  weeping  tree!    In  yon  glad  glade, 
Star-whispering  pines  hold  her  bright  memory  fast, 
And  echoes  of  her  lovely  laughter  last : 

Let  no  sad  vine,  distraught  and  disarrayed, 
Cling  sobbing  to  the  garden  gods  for  aid, 
Nor  brow  of  jocund  Pan  be  overcast: 
Rather  in  sunlit  space  a  fountain  rear, 

Where  white  doves  dwell,  delighting  in  its  dews; 
Let  spangled  Columbine  and  Pansy  here, 

In  turn  with  Rose  and  Lily.,  smile,  sing,  pray; 
And  passers-by  shall  pause  awhile  and  muse, 
"What  maiden  beautiful  once  came  this  way?" 


41 


ASCUTNEY 

(THE  NAME  IS  DERIVED  FROM  INDIAN  WORDS  MEANING 
THREE  BROTHERS) 

FAIR  guardian  mount,  beneath  whose  azure  hold 
Our  large  yet  lyric  landscape  seek  its  ends ! 
Thou  southward  hill,  in  thee  the  far  East 
blends 

With  West,  since  thou,  our  Fuji,  dost  enfold 
In  Orient  outline,  triple  towers  old, 

Traditional  of  Indian  deed  that  lends 

For  aye  thy  name,  Three  Brothers,  or  Three  Friends; 
And  me  these  oft  have  gladdened  and  consoled ! 
But  if,  O  dear  and  distant  Brothers,  ye 

Have  wrought  me  magic,  standing  there  apart 
In  summer  splendour  and  in  winter  stress, 
How  tell  what  gifts  these  other  brothers  three, 

Far  nearer  kindred  of  my  house  and  heart, 
Have  brought  of  comforting  and  loveliness! 


42 


TO-DAY 


LEONARDO  —  Luther  —  Lincoln  —  when  we 
A  praise 

A  name  like  theirs,  illumed  on  Time's  vast 
scroll, 

We  ponder;  sighing,  envious  of  their  goal, 
"Alas,  Fate's  high  occasion  never  stays!" 
Let  not  the  worshipper  of  vanished  days 

Forget,  the  Present  dwells  beside  the  whole 

Of  beauty's  truth;  the  Present  still  must  roll 
From  many  a  tomb,  the  stone  that  hides  God's  rays 
What  angels'  task  for  men  and  women  too, 

Ere  Life's  immured  irradiance  shall  rise, 
Ere  all  the  soul's  dark  chains  be  broken  through, 

And  all  her  freedom  gained,  with  a  great  price!  — 
Beloved,  while  mine  own  brief  part  I  do, 

Would  thou  wert  here  to-day,  in  earthly  guise ! 


43 


LYRICS  FROM  SYLVIA'S  MASQUE 
TO-MORROW  LAND 


■ 


CLOSED  EYES 


SWEET  Mother,  when  I  close  my  eyes, 
Why  are  the  sights  I  see 
More  strange  than  when,  all  wide  and  wise, 
They  look  outside  of  me? 

(Rest  now,  rest  now,  little  child !) 

I  wish  that  1  could  tell  you  true 

What  wondrous  shapes  there  are 
Behind  my  eyes!   What  colors,  too! 

But  speaking  sends  them  far, 

(Too  far,  too  far,  little  child !) 

Yes,  far,  far  off!    Sometimes  one  word 

Will  seem  to  give  them  wings, 
And  each  is  like  a  sparrow-bird 

That  hears  some  frightening  things, 

(Fear  not,  fear  not,  little  child !) 

And  flies  so  high  and  swift  away, 

Over  the  hill  and  hollow; 
Sometimes,  those  sights  that  never  stay, 

I  wish  that  I  might  follow, 

(Nay,  follow  not,  little  child!) 

47 


CLOSED  EYES 

But  if  the  lamps  at  home  were  lit, 

And  it  was  night,  and  stars  were  few, 
Would  I  not  be  afraid  of  it, 

And  very  lonely  if  I  flew? 

(And  lonely  we,  little  child !) 

And  if  I  feared  some  strange  dark  cloud 
And  strange  dark  noises  seemed  to  be  — 

Then  Mother,  if  I  called  aloud, 
O  Mother,  could  you  come  to  me? 

(Oh,  if,  and  if,  little  child!) 


48 


CALL  O'  THE  RAIN 


CALL  o'  the  rain,  again,  so  plain, 
Dashing  and  splashing  athwart  the  pane : 
"  Fia,  Fia,  flee  away  now, 
Away  with  us,  off  in  the  rain ! 
Robin  Goodfellow  and  Nimbletoes, 
Look  how  they  laugh  at  their  spattered  hose! 
Bends  the  bough,  bows  the  rose, 
Rose  that  under  your  casement  blows; 

Fia,  Fia,  flee  away  now, 
Away  with  us,  off  in  the  rain!" 

"  I'm  watching  the  rain  from  my  window-seat; 

All  in  the  open  is  misty  and  sweet; 

Nimble  and  Robin  are  playfellows  meet, 

But  were  I  away  with  them,  Mother  would  greet 

"  I  bend  my  eyes  but  to  broidered  rose, 
That  silkily  under  my  needle  glows  — 
Silkily,  sulkily,  ah,  who  knows  — 
Satin-stitch,  brier-stitch  —  all  of  those?" 


49 


CALL  o'  THE  RAIN 

Call  o'  the  rain.,  once  more,  once  more, 
And  blithe  it  batters  the  wide  white  door: 

"  Fia,  Fia,  for  love  of  the  leaves, 
Away  with  us  now  in  the  mist ! 
The  great  god  Pan  is  tuning  his  stops; 
Behold  him  now  tossing  the  diamond  drops 
From  his  ears  and  his  nose  and  his  grapes  and  his  hops, 
And  look  at  the  pearls  on  the  poppy-tops! 

Fia,  Fia,  for  love  of  the  leaves, 
Away  with  us  now  in  the  mist!" 


"  The  great  god  Pan  must  wipe  his  own  tears, 

Now,  as  ever  for  thousands  of  years; 

Good  is  the  rain  for  his  nose  and  his  ears, 

For  his  grapes  and  his  hops,  there's  nobody  fears ! 


"And  I,  as  before,  I  must  do  as  I've  tried, 
Though  it's  little  I  like  in  my  bower  to  bide, 
And  liever  I'd  range  by  the  dim  brookside, 
And  ho,  for  a  high  horse  to  ride  astride!" 


50 


CALL  O'  THE  WEE  PEOPLE 


I 

FAIR  Fia,  gird  thy  kirtle  green, 
To  fare  afar,  our  Faery  Queen; 
Fair  Fia,  gird  thy  kirtle  green, 
So  silken-fine,  of  magic  sheen: 

"Let  all  thy  golden  hair  fall  down, 
For  wearing  o'  the  Faery  Crown, 
And  swift  slip  on  thy  silver  shoon, 
To  fare  away  with  us  eftsoon ! 

"All  we,  Wee  People  o'  the  Wood, 
We  watched  thy  merry  maidenhood; 
All  we,  Wee  People  o'the  Wood, 
We  waited  in  thy  neighborhood, 

"That  we  might  lead  thee  by  the  hand 
To  our  bright  realm,  To-morrow  Land : 
And  ho,  the  forest  green  for  us, 
And  thou,  the  only  Queen  for  us!" 

5i 


CALL  o'  THE  WEE  PEOPLE 


II 

"No  crown  of  faery  gold  I'll  dree  — 
My  brothers  bold  weave  wreaths  for  me; 
No  crown  of  faery  gold  I'll  dree, 
Howe'er  I  love  ye,  People  Wee ! 

"  I  love  mine  own  true  kinsfolk  more, 
I  love  our  own  house,  roof  to  door, 

"And  oh,  my  mother's  tears  would  fall, 
And  aye  I'd  hear  my  father  call! 

"Oh  hark,  no  sounds  of  raindrops,  these, 
Borne  hither  on  a  faery  breeze  — 
Oh  hark,  no  sounds  of  raindrops,  these, 
But  Mother,  sobbing  'neath  the  trees ! 

"The  horn  my  little  brother  blows 
Is  ringing  now,  in  sport  I  chose 

"For  him:  that  light  there  in  the  gloom 
Is  shining  from  my  father's  room!" 


52 


CALL  O*  THE  WEE  PEOPLE 


III 

"Nay,  little  Queen,  what  thou  dost  see 
Is  elfin  firelight  for  thy  glee: 
Nay,  Faery  Queen,  what  thou  dost  see 
Is  fireflies'  joy  in  greeting  thee: 

And  Elfland's  horns  thou  hearest,  those 
Of  Flitterwing  and  Nimbletoes; 

Of  sobs  and  raindrops,  not  at  all, 
Save  flung  from  faery  waterfall!" 


53 


THE  SILVER  KNIGHT 


YLVIA  FIA,  the  Silver  Knight, 


^3  On  faery  charger,  dazzling-white, 
Awaits  thee  here  in  the  still  moon- 
light r 

"  Better  I  love  my  good  red  roan, 
To  ride  and  to  ride  by  my  maiden  lone, 
Or  off  with  my  brother  to  Rocking  Stone  V 

"Sylvia  Fia,  a  Faery  Queen 
May  ride  at  her  liking,  or  morn,  or  e'en, 
Or  sma'  hours,  'a  hours,  by  and  between! 

"Sacred  and  safe  in  the  harvest  moon 
Ride  golden  crown  and  silver  shoon; 
Then  up  and  away  by  the  sailing  moon!" 


54 


SLUMBER  SONG 


THE  Bumblebees  far  from  the  Larkspur  spurred; 
The  Honeybees  flew  from  the  Foxgloves, 
their  loves, 

And  sang  with  the  Bumblebees,  word  for  word, 
(The  Bumblebees,  far  from  the  Larkspur  spurred!) 
They  all  sang  the  slumber  song  Sylvia  heard, 

Commingling  their  notes  with  the  little  gray  dove's: 
The  Bumblebees  far  from  the  Larkspur  spurred, 

The  Honeybees  flew  from  the  Foxgloves,  their  loves. 

O  Honeybees,  hum  it  —  let  Sylvia  slumber; 

And  hum  it  and  drum  it,  as  low  as  ye  may! 
O  Bumblebees,  gold  bees,  and  bees  all  in  umber, 
O  Honeybees,  hum  it  —  let  Sylvia  slumber, 
Let  naught  but  fair  dreaming  her  eyelids  encumber, 

Till  we  to  To-morrow  Land  bear  her  away  — 
O  Honeybees,  hum  it  —  let  Sylvia  slumber, 

And  hum  it  and  drum  it,  as  low  as  ye  may! 


55 


TRAVEL  SONG 


I DREAMED  of  journeys  all  the  night; 
Com'st  thou,  or  shall  I  go,  sweet  Love? 
Rough  roads,  far  glens,  ways  wild  and  bright  — 
I  dreamed  of  journeys  all  the  night, 
Of  tangled  travel,  faery  flight ! 
This  morn,  I  weep  to  find  thy  glove; 
I  dreamed  of  journeys  all  the  night; 
Com'st  thou,  or  shall  I  go,  sweet  Love? 


What  viewless  voyage  might  be  meant 

For  thee,  or  me,  or  for  us  twain? 
Low  sings  my  soul,  almost  content, 
"  What  viewless  voyage  might  be  meant 
By  those  far  voices,  faintly  blent?" 

To  know,  to  go,  my  soul  were  fain  — 
What  viewless  voyage  might  be  meant 
For  thee,  or  me,  or  for  us  twain? 


56 


CHIPMUNK  AHOY 
(robin  goodfellow's  song) 


CHIPMUNK  ahoy  there!    Hi  there!  Ho! 
Tell  us  thy  joy  there,  aloft  and  alow! 

Hast  thou  no  pockets  at  all  in  thy  breeks. 
Must  stuff  my  butternuts  all  in  thy  cheeks? 
Trim  now  thy  sail  to  the  windward,  O! 

Thou  find'st  in  me  no  chipmunk  foe  — 
Thy  bugle  eyes,  and  thy  plume  I  know; 
I  know  thy  sallies,  scampers,  squeaks, 
Chipmunk  ahoy! 

From  Summer  sun  to  Winter  snow 

O  Chipmunk,  thou  and  I  must  go! 
Then  nab  my  nuts,  or  loot  my  leeks, 
Take  as  thou  wilt  for  the  dreary  weeks ! 

Next  Spring,  thy  merry  striped  jacket  show, 
Chipmunk  ahoy! 


57 


i 


LADY  ROBIN 


YEAVE  ho,  my  Lady  Robin,  lass, 
What's  that  great  wriggling  rope  you  tug 
Out  of  the  heartstrings  of  the  grass  — 
Indeed,  no  common  or  garden  slug! 

A  veritable  dragon,  he, 

And  you,  a  tiny  Saint  Georgette; 
Yeave  ho,  my  Lady  Robin,  we 

Stand  by!    Fair  play!   You'll  have  him  yet! 

So  far  beyond  our  senses  five, 
What  wondrous  robin-sense  have  you, 

To  find  'neath  turf  the  griffin's  hive? 
Yeave  ho,  my  Lady  Robin,  do! 

Your  tail  is  worn,  your  chest  shows  thin 
From  lengthy  sittings  on  blue  eggs, 

But  you've  the  race  of  life  to  win, 
On  valiant  little  yellow  legs! 

58 


LADY  ROBIN 


Your  big-beaked  moon-calf  of  a  son, 
Since  all  his  mind  is  in  his  mouth, 

Still  follows  where  your  game  is  won, 
And  calls  for  food  from  north  to  south: 

He's  stouter,  too,  than  you,  my  dear, 
But  little  thought  is  his,  I  trow, 

To  fight  the  foe  while  you  are  near  — 
Yeave  ho,  my  Lady  Robin,  now! 


Again,  again,  with  might  and  main, 
You  teach  your  son  the  robin-trick, 

But  oh,  he  loses  all,  'tis  plain! 
Yeave  ho,  my  Lady  Robin,  quick! 

Have  at  that  big  one,  then,  yeave  ho! 

Too  bad  your  son  is  such  a  dunce! 
Dear  me,  you  let  that  big  one  go? 

Well,  let  the  moral  go,  for  once! 


59 


SONG  SPARROW 


SONG  Sparrow,  safe  in  a  Spiraea, 
Close  beside  the  garden  gate, 
Still  trilling,  "Oh,  what  joy  to  be  a 
Song  Sparrow,  safe  in  a  Spiraea!" 
May  no  unkindly  eye  e'er  see  a 

Nest  there,  eggs,  or  mate, 
Song  Sparrow,  safe  in  a  Spiraea, 
Close  beside  the  garden  gate. 

Because  no  sparrow  ever  falls, 

Without  our  Heavenly  Father's  will, 
How  sweetly  now  Song  Sparrow  calls, 
"  Because  no  sparrow  ever  falls, 
My  birdlings,  rest  within  these  walls 

I  builded;  little  hearts,  lie  still; 
Because  no  sparrow  ever  falls, 
Without  our  Heavenly  Father's  will!" 


60 


HERMIT  THRUSH 


I AM  the  bird  of  God; 
I  sing  for  Him; 
From  forest  far,  upon  His  nod, 
I  wing  for  Him: 

You  seldom  spy  my  wings, 

Or  win  my  nest  ; 
You  wonder  oft,  what  manner  of  things 

Are  in  my  nest : 

You  list  my  lay,  and  say 

My  name  again; 
Hearing  my  song,  you  cannot  stay 

The  same  again  ; 

Because  God's  singer's  voice, 

Caressing  the  air, 
Still  moves  your  heart,  without  your  choice; 

To  confessing,  and  prayer; 

Because  I  am  God's  bird, 

And  wing  to  Him, 
Finding  on  earth,  a  heavenly  word 

To  bring  to  Him! 

61 


POPLAR  TREE 


BETTER  not  ask  a  poplar  tree,  what  weather  for 
your  Maying, 
For  rain,  rain,  rain,  and  showers  she  forever 
will  be  saying! 
Far  better  ask  the  birds  and  skies 
To  tell  you  true  how  the  land  lies, 
What  time  'twill  be  when  Robinettes  are  really  out  and 
straying, 

Or  when  the  little  long-legged  lambs  will  show  some 

grace  in  playing, 
What  hope  the  slim  young  moon  holds  out,  what  new  of 
neighbors'  haying! 
Oh,  brooks  will  tell,  or  cloud  that  flies, 
Better  not  ask  the  poplar  tree! 
Better  not  ask, 
Better  not ! 

When  lover  and  a  loveress  walk  lagging  and  delaying, 
Beneath  a  wagging  poplar  tree,  that  listens  while 
a-swaying, 
All  you  who  would  be  weather-wise 
In  questions  quick  and  slow  replies, 
Speak  to  the  breeze,  the  other  trees,  —  the  briar-rose 
hears  all  praying,  — 
Better  not  ask  the  poplar  tree! 
Better  not  ask, 
Better  not! 

62 


THE  IVORY  PORTRAIT 
AND 
OTHER  VERSES 


THE  IVORY  PORTRAIT 
I 

THIS  tender  profile  that  you  scan  — 
And  oh,  it  breathes  of  beauty's  dower! — 
A  woman's  fingers  well  may  span  — 
So  small  its  space  within  her  bower!  — 
The  golden  circlet  that  enfolds  it. 

Heart  of  a  child,  brain  of  a  man 
And  many  a  perfect  summer  hour 

Kept  tryst  for  you,  in  loving  plan 
To  consecrate  this  ivory  flower, 

As  your  dear  thought  to-day  beholds  it. 


65 


II 


THE  SCULPTOR 

In  the  North,  not  the  cruelly  northernmost  North, 
But  close  to  the  voice  of  bright  rills 
And  the  beckoning  hands  of  great  hills, 

A  child  was  in  gladness  brought  forth: 

And  he  said  to  himself,  as  the  heart  of  a  man-child  may 
say  things, 

"  I  take  me  this  earth  and  these  beautiful  rocks  for  my 
playthings. 

"  I  will  pinch  up  the  rocks  that  are  nearest  the  sky, 

And  make  of  them  rabbits  and  men 

And  maybe  an  angel,  and  then  — 
When  the  Sunday  people  pass  by, 
Some  morning  quite  still,  except  for  the  organ  playing, 
The  rabbits  and  men  will  hear  what  the  angel  is  saying/' 

And  as  others,  the  man  kept  a  part  of  the  word 
Of  the  child.  In  brave  bronze  and  fair  stone 
His  hand  ever  wrought  to  make  known 

Whatsoever  his  heart  had  heard 

Of  beauty  or  truth;  in  homely  or  foreign  places, 

Interpreting  ever  the  wonderful  message  of  faces. 


66 


THE  IVORY  PORTRAIT 


ON  THE  TERRACE 

On  the  terrace,  a  marvelous  flower  uncloses; 

It  dances,  it  glances,  it  sways 

In  a  thousand  bright  ways: 
It  reminds  you  of  stars,  yet  of  roses! 
Come  see! 

On  the  terrace,  a  lovely  new  blossom  is  showing; 

Tis  twining,  and  shining,  and  oh, 

Did  ever  you  hear  or  know 
Of  a  blossom  with  golden  hair  growing? 
Come  see! 

Were  ever  you  told  of  a  floweret,  singing? 

With  chatter,  and  pattering  feet, 

And  dowered  with  dimple  sweet, 
With  laughter  like  faery-bells  ringing? 
Come  see! 


67 


THE  IVORY  PORTRAIT 


IV 

THE  MAIDEN 

Since  first  I  saw  your  golden  head, 
Full  ten  fleet  years,  O  flower,  have  fled, 
Bitter  and  bright  together  sped ! 

Dear  child,  now  to  the  maiden  grown, 
Could  I  but  loose  from  some  fair  stone 
An  angel-likeness,  all  your  own ! 

Yet  marble  were  too  cold  for  you, 

And  bronze  were  dark  and  old  for  you ; 

In  ivory,  then,  I  mould  for  you 

Your  portrait,  flower-child,  now  maiden  grown. 


68 


THE  IVORY  PORTRAIT 


V 

IVORY 
I 

The  shining  rose  called  Pearl-and-Gold 
Shall  never  show 
In  highest  light, 
Dissolving  into  softest  fold 
A  purer  glow 
Of  warmer  white: 

O  ivory,  ivory, 

The  glimmering  robe  of  cloistered  nun, 
Kneeling  in  bliss 
At  vesper  bells, 
No  fairer  radiance  hath  won 
Than  even  this 
The  ivory  tells: 

O  ivory,  ivory, 

And  so  the  beasts  whereof  we  speak 
May  still  possess  — 
Ah  me,  who  knows? 
The  very  loveliness  we  seek 
In  nun's  white  dress, 
In  glowing  rose! 

O  ivory,  ivory. 


69 


THE  IVORY  PORTRAIT  —  IVORY 


In  the  far  eastern  East, 

They  say, 
A  vast  forest  beast 

Went  mad,  one  day: 

Nor  was  he  among  beast  mere  catlike  King, 

But  rather  Councillor,  a  kindlier  thing; 

Yet  mad,  March-mad  was  he 

As  hare  or  man  might  be; 

Else  why,  all  uncontrollable,  assail 

With  fierce  trunk  flying  as  a  flail, 

The  sacred  person  of  her  Majesty's  Mail? 

Ah,  who  shall  guess  what  dim  far  eastern  spells 
Had  traitorous  crept  to  slime  the  mighty  cells 
Of  that  large  brain,  routing  forever  thence 
Its  recent  tenant,  mild  Obedience? 
Was  it  long-smouldering,  sudden-flaming  hate 
For  Man,  the  master  of  the  dumb  brute's  fate? 

We  only  know, 

That  day,  before  the  dusk, 
Man  laid  him  low, 

Hide,  trump,  and  tusk. 


70 


THE  IVORY  PORTRAIT  —  IVORY 


III 

And  now,  this  monarch  means,  for  you  and  me 
But  this,  a  hand's  breadth  of  fine  ivory, 
In  tint  and  texture  exquisite  indeed, 
Responding  to  the  cunning  carver's  need 

To  shape  a  tale  of  saints  on  missal  cover, 
To  celebrate  the  Mourning  Mother's  grace, 

To  mould  forever  for  some  eager  lover 
The  perfect  flower  of  his  lady's  face; 

Nay  more,  for  love  of  father,  mother,  friend, 
To  frame  a  fond  remembrance;  to  enscroll 

A  fleeting  glimpse,  a  vista  without  end, 
That  mortal  mystery,  a  maiden's  soul. 


71 


THE  IVORY  PORTRAIT  — IN  THE  STUDIO 


VI 

IN  THE  STUDIO 

How  Leonardo  would  have  loved  to  paint 
This  profile  of  young  saint 
Within  its  aureole  of  tender  gold; 
To  search  each  petal-fold 

Of  lips,  for  paler  or  for  deeper  rose, 

To  draw  the  straight,  fine  nose, 

To  linger  musing  on  this  broad-arched  brow, 

Even  as  I  do  now! 

In  this  mysterious  modelling  of  the  cheek, 
His  watchful  eye  would  seek 
These  half-tints  delicate,  roses  and  pearls 
That  are  a  little  girl's; 

And  many  a  sculptor  of  the  time,  as  he, 
Named  "of  Fiesole," 

Or  he  whose  living,  breathing  "Singing  Boys" 
Still  make  their  joyful  noise; 


72 


THE  IVORY  PORTRAIT  —  IN  THE  STUDIO 


Or  he,  far-famed,  whose  unforgotten  hands 
Wrought  for  all  lands 
To  know  and  love  in  warm  Carrara  stone, 
A  Lady  called  " Unknown,"  — 

Large  craftsmen  of  the  re-born  centuries  — 
How  passionately  these 
Had  told  their  vision  of  this  little  head, 
Sweetly  interpreted! 

And  if  those  liberal  golden  yesterdays 
Would  well  have  sung  the  praise 
Of  this  pure  candid  profile's  lovely  line, 
No  less,  these  days  of  mine: 

For  oh,  that  godlike  sculptor  lately  here, 

He  whom  these  hills  hold  dear, 

Would  fain  have  shaped  from  it,  as  coin  of  Greece, 

Another  masterpiece; 

But  ere  the  perfect  moment  of  these  things. 
Night  came,  and  the  dark  wings; 
And  what  he  might  have  wrought  of  loveliness 
We  know  not,  we  but  guess ! 


73 


THE  IVORY  PORTRAIT  —  IN  THE  STUDIO 


II 

Meanwhile,  the  maiden  from  her  model's  throne 
Lists  the  brown  bees  intone, 
Antiphonal  to  lady-wasps  that  pass 
Across  the  north-light's  glass; 

A  squirrel  quarrels  with  the  elm-tree's  leaves; 
Beneath  the  studio  eaves 
The  circling  swifts  dispute,  in  serried  flight 
The  bluebirds'  manor  right ; 

Within,  high  images  of  knight  and  priest, 
Girded  for  old-time  feast, 
And  warriors  of  to-day,  and  lights  o'  the  law 
Contrive  their  air  of  awe; 

Damsels  fair-filleted,  in  chiton  trim, 
Advance  with  symbols  dim, 
While  Fia  parts  wide  silences  to  speak, 
"Are  all  the  virtues  Greek?" 


74 


THE  IVORY  PORTRAIT  — IN  THE  STUDIO 


The  sculptor,  pacing,  plies  his  antique  art 
As  in  a  world  apart, 

Since  many  a  message  yet  must  go  and  come 
Twixt  master  eye  and  thumb; 

And  artists  aye  must  meditate  at  ease 
Their  chosen  mysteries, 
While  only  little  sitters  ever  know 
That  sitter's  hour,  how  slow! 

Ah,  guiled  by  gazing  into  purple  hills, 
And  saying  "  Daffodils," 
Or  sweet  short  story  of  the  Lucy-star, 
Or  tale  of  "Lochinvar," 

That  hour,  an  earthly  hour,  not  long  will  stay! 
Fia  will  flee  away 

Into  the  sunset,  carolling,  "Oh  when, — 
When  shall  I  come  again?" 


75 


THE  IVORY  PORTRAIT 


VII 

GOLD 

At  the  edge  of  the  uttermost  West, 
Where  the  worst  may  brother  the  best, 
Far,  far  in  the  West,  behold, 
Men  said  there  were  pots  of  the  gold : 

Obeying  an  ancient  behest, 

A  cry  of  the  blood  in  their  veins, 
Men  marched  to  the  uttermost  West, 

All  for  gold  : 
In  the  sun  and  the  snow  and  the  rains, 
They  sang  and  shivered  and  burned, 
Nor  faltered  at  peaks  or  plains, 
All  for  gold: 

And  whether  men  died,  or  returned 

With  a  tale  of  their  wealth  or  their  woe, 

There  were  always  others  who  yearned 
Unceasingly,  Westward  Ho! 

ii 

Gold,  gold,  what  is  your  hold, 
Untold  by  the  sages? 

Have  you  stolen,  to  master  men's  dreams, 
From  the  sun,  his  far-shining  beams? 
76 


THE  IVORY  PORTRAIT  —  GOLD 


Have  you  gathered  the  questioned  glow 
Of  the  buttercups,  long  ago? 

Are  you  strong  because  you  may  wear 
Spun  brightness  of  children's  hair? 

Gold,  gold,  what  is  your  hold 
On  the  heart  of  the  ages? 

in 

If  gold  be  strong  like  iron,  yet  may  wear 
Spun  radiance,  as  of  a  child's  bright  hair, 

Then  bid  the  tender  craft  of  Florentine 
Choose  golden  strands  from  Californian  river, 

And  weld  and  wind  them  as  for  crown  of  queen, 
To  crown  this  carven  ivory  forever, 

Framing  it, 
Nor  shaming  it, 

Since  gold  is  strong  like  iron,  yet  may  wear 
Spun  radiance,  as  of  remembered  hair. 


77 


THE  IVORY  PORTRAIT 


VIII 

A  man  might  hide  beneath  two  hands 
Held  close  and  closer  side  by  side 

This  ivory  portrait  as  it  stands, 
With  what  it  owns  of  grace  or  pride: 

But  all  the  memories  it  imparts 
Of  Sylvia  —  all  these,  we  know, 

Could  ne'er  be  hidden  in  two  hearts, 
And  who,  ah,  who  would  wish  them  so? 


78 


BETS  IN  DA 


I SAW  thee  in  thy  little  shift, 
And  why  I  grieved  I  knew  not  then  ; 
How  should  I  know 
Thou  wert  to  go, 
Yea,  even  so, 
After  a  while,  among  the  stars  again? 

And  when  1  viewed  thee  girded  thus, 

With  coronal  of  shining  hair, 
Did  I  surmise, 
Such  is  the  guise, 
In  Paradise, 

Of  new  souls  choosing  garlands  they  shall  wear? 

1  saw  thee  in  thy  little  shift; 

How  guessed  I  that  such  vesture  white 
Was  sign  to  tell, 
And  passing  well, 
Like  a  clear  bell, 

Of  travel-garment,  and  of  lonely  flight? 

79 


BETSINDA 

Yet  after  I  beheld  thee,  too, 

My  soul  had  sorrow  all  that  day  ; 
All  night  I  dreamed, 
Weeping,  meseemed; 
Something  I  deemed 

Most  beautiful  had  made  me  weep  and  pray. 

I  saw  thee  in  thy  little  shift; 

Adown  my  cheek  ran  rain  of  tears; 
"The  old,  old  pain," 
My  heart  was  fain 
So  to  explain : 

My  heart  knew  not,  'twas  pain  of  coming  years. 


80 


TO  SYLVIA'S  EYES 


HEAR  now  my  song  to  Sylvia's  eyes 
Pure  as  God's  mercies  glowing, 
That  shine  on  me  from  Paradise. 

So  deep,  like  seas!   So  blue,  like  skies! 

With  mirth  and  love  o'erflowing! 
Hear  now  my  song  to  Sylvia's  eyes. 

And  oh,  their  look  of  bright  surprise, 

Like  look  of  stars,  fresh-growing, 
That  shine  on  me  from  Paradise! 

Fringed  pools,  holding  nor  lures  nor  lies, 

Yet  wistful  with  foreknowing; 
Hear  now  my  song  to  Sylvia's  eyes. 

Fair  eyelids  fall;  fair  Springtime  flies; 

And  fairer  stars  are  showing, 
That  shine  on  me  from  Paradise. 

O  fairer  stars,  in  angel-wise 

Ye  watch  me,  coming,  going: 
Hear  now  my  song  to  Sylvia's  eyes, 
That  shine  on  me  from  Paradise! 


81 


THE  FAIRER  FLOWER 


WOULD  I  knew  the  fairer  flower  — 
Rose  or  lily,  lily  or  rose, 
Here  to  hold  in  my  heart's  bower! 

Rose-Marie  has  world-old  power; 

Sovranly  her  bright  blush  shows: 
Would  I  knew  the  fairer  flower! 

Sylvia's  lily  look  would  shower 

All  my  soul  with  grace  that  grows, 
Here  to  hold  in  my  heart's  bower: 

Each  most  blest!    In  each,  her  dower 

Of  loveliness  or  gleams  or  glows : 
Would  I  knew  the  fairer  flower  — 

Ah,  but  never  shall  my  tower 

Watch  that  fairer  bloom  unclose, 
Here  to  hold  in  my  heart's  bower! 

Clouds  shall  lift,  as  clouds  shall  lower; 

I  chose  not  —  the  heavens  chose. 
Would  I  knew  the  fairer  flower 
Here  to  hold  in  my  heart's  bower! 


82 


VISION  OF  CHILDHOOD 


I SAW  God  in  His  sky, 
I  spoke  with  Him; 
The  shape  was  beautiful,  and  very 
great  and  dim : 
I  saw  God  in  His  sky, 

I  spoke  with  Him; 
There  was  no  passer-by. 

And  I  had  no  more  fear, 
He  bent  His  head, 

He  listened  tenderly  unto  the  prayer 
I  said: 
And  I  had  no  more  fear, 

He  bent  His  head, 
That  I  might  know  Him  near. 

Oh,  it  was  long  ago, 
And  I  was  small; 

I  have  not,  every  day,  always  remem- 
bered all: 
Oh,  it  was  long  ago, 

And  I  was  small; 
Nor  more  could  ever  know. 


83 


THEY  THAT  MOURN 


SISTERS  twain  are  Grief  and  Bliss: 
"  Blessed  are  they  that  mourn/'  'twas  said, 
And,  "For  they  shall  be  comforted:" 
Yet  blessed  not  alone  for  this! 

But  oh,  enriched  by  gift  of  Grief, 
By  treasure  out  of  Sorrow's  store, 
They  shall  distil  from  Pain's  long  lore 

Balm  for  another's  sweet  relief. 

By  falling  waters,  roses  stray ; 

Thou,  whose  heart's  garden  knoweth  rue, 

Shalt  find  therein,  in  season  due, 
The  perfect  rose  to  give  away. 


84 


OF  LITTLE  THINGS 


THEY  are  little,  but  oh,  they  are  near, 
These  things  unforgotten  and  dear, 
Now  writ,  for  remembering  here: 

The  daily  and  dutiful  grace 

Of  a  delicate  flower  face, 

And  the  dimple,  its  hiding-place; 

A  tress  and  a  glance  and  a  glove, 
A  lilting  of  laughter  and  love, 
And  the  silvery  wing  of  a  dove; 

Yet  these  have  their  reason  and  rhyme 
No  less  than  the  bluebird's  song, 

Though  frail  as  a  bluebell's  chime, 
Once  heard  as  we  happened  along. 

Things  frail  as  a  bluebell's  chime  — 
How  often  they  last  a  long  time  — 

85 


OF  LITTLE  THINGS 

For  we  lay  them  away  on  high  shelves 
That  the  great  world  may  seldom  behold, 

And  we  leave  still  a  part  of  ourselves 
With  our  love  in  each  white,  white  fold. 

There  is  nothing  of  large  intent, 
Except  as  you  know  what  is  meant; 
The  way  that  an  eyebrow  went, 

With  a  merry  or  pensive  air, 

And  the  light  that  played  over  her  hair 

As  she  stood  one  day  by  your  chair; 

And  writ  for  remembering  here, 
These  things  unforgotten  and  dear; 
They  are  little,  but  oh,  they  are  near! 


86 


THE  BLUE  MANTLE 


O LITTLE  lonely  cavalier, 
I  met  thee  in  the  deepening  day, 
Riding  the  road  where  yesteryear 
Thou  and  thy  namesake  oft  would  stray. 

Thy  mantle  blue  wore  pensive  fold; 

There  lacked  but  gleam  of  helm  and  lance 
To  bid  mine  eyes  in  thee  behold 

Again  the  sainted  Maid  of  France: 

For  thine  was  look  of  those  who  face 

An  unexpected  destiny; 
Around  thee  in  that  woodland  place 

Lay  aureole  of  reverie. 

And  steadfastly  thy  pony  kept 
The  russet  path  'neath  russet  boughs, 

Nor  fretted  when  the  squirrel  swept 
Aloft  his  plume  of  high  carouse. 

87 


THE  BLUE  MANTLE 


Almost,  almost  I  wondered  then 

if  this  were  tapestry,  or  dream, 
Or  if  I  walked  the  ways  of  men, 

And  verily  by  woodland  stream. 

O  rider,  thou  who  rid'st  beside 

The  autumn  hush,  thou  art  young  to  know 
What  stillness  comes  when  one  shall  ride 

Where  two  were  lately  wont  to  go. 

The  Voices  that  thy  spirit  heard 

Borne  on  the  autumn's  tender  breeze 

Were  ne'er  the  notes  of  autumn  bird 
Revisiting  past  revelries. 

The  heart's  quick  dew  was  in  thine  eyes 
That  overflowed  ere  thou  couldst  speak; 

Nor  shall  those  holy  drops  chastise 
The  rose  of  morning  from  thy  cheek: 

But  rather  shall  thy  maiden  look 
Henceforth  a  deeper  radiance  wear, 

As  if  it  more  immediate  took 
Its  sweetness,  from  a  purer  air; 

As  if  with  grief  thou  couldst  not  dwell 

All  unacquainted  as  before, 
As  if  Hope's  rose-wreath  held  as  well 

Some  lovely  leaf  from  Memory's  lore. 


THE  BLUE  MANTLE 

And  they  who  dream  of  voices  flown, 
And  they  who  dwell  with  Voices  near, 

Shall  nevermore  ride  all  alone, 
Though  solitary,  cavalier! 


8Q 


ENVOY 


/ 


SYLVAN  VOICES 


IN  robes  of  laughter  and  of  song, 
In  duffle  gray  of  daily  word, 
Or  borne  on  radiant  plumes  along, 
The  Sylvan  Voices  still  are  heard. 

You  hear  them  when  the  throstles  sing, 
And  when  the  shimmering  rain-drops  dance 

By  flowery  marges  of  your  spring, 
To  catch  the  Naiad's  captive  glance. 

I  hear  them  in  the  Clara-call, 
The  Sylvia-note,  the  Ellen-name, 

When  ringing  echoes  rise  and  fall, 
And  Youth  rides  lilting,  "Hey  for  hame!" 

Sometimes  you  know  not  they  are  near, 
Until  your  sudden  tear  shall  start, 

To  list  them,  quiring  silver-clear 
Within  the  lily's  golden  heart. 


93 


SYLVAN  VOICES 

Perchance,  fleetfoot,  at  pearl  of  dawn 
They  leave  a  dimple  in  the  grass, 

A  little  laughter  on  the  lawn; 
Then  light  as  thistledown,  they  pass. 

They  gather  in  cathedral  aisle 
To  kneel  with  you  upon  the  stones; 

They  whisper  with  your  prayers  awhile, 
Then  soar  aloft  in  organ-tones. 

To-day  they  sing  dear  dooryard  things  — 
The  branch,  the  bird,  the  honeybee ; 

To-morrow  sees  them  spread  their  wings 
August,  in  God's  immensity : 

And  oh,  however  far  they  fly, 

The  Voices  come  —  they  never  fail  — 
When  the  rapt  rainbow  rides  the  sky 

Past  Dingleton,  past  Maryvale! 


94 


CORNISH,  NEW  HAMPSHIRE 
M  C  M  X  I  I 


